


You Are Missing From Me

by theminiummark



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, M/M, Post-Concussion Syndrome, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:39:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theminiummark/pseuds/theminiummark
Summary: Sidney is discharged from the army with a head injury that leaves him missing time and suffering from flashbacks and other symptoms. As he struggles to heal from his mental and physical injuries, his sister never leaves his side. Sidney can't help but feel that he is holding her back from her life, all the while he feels as though a vital part of himself is missing.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, Taylor Crosby/Nathan MacKinnon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	You Are Missing From Me

Taylor sighs in resignation as she leaves her brother's room, allowing the door to close with a soft click. Her arms curl around her waist, hugging herself tightly. She opens her eyes from when fall shut, trying to hold back the tears of helplessness that always seem to be waiting for a vulnerable moment to run down her cheeks and soak through her handkerchiefs. 

She startles when their man, Dana, clears his throat softly. She smiles at him wanly, seeing the helpless worry reflected in his gaze.

“He is sleeping now,” she murmurs, not wanting her voice to carry and wake Sidney from his hard earned rest. “This is the worst episode yet. Please stay close, tonight, Dana. I fear he will wake disoriented and harm himself. It may be time...no. I'm sorry, Dana. It's late.”

“So it is, Miss Taylor. Take care to rest yourself, also.”

Taylor bids him good night, turning for her own rooms down the hall. She enters them with the same quiet she has left Sidney's, and moves in a daze to her sitting table. Sinking down onto the plush bench, she stares, not seeing, at her reflection. Even as the tears finally spill over, she simply just closes her eyes and begins to let down her hair. 

Four months have passed. Four months of silence and dark rooms. Four months of pain filled groans and hoarse shouts. Four months of a man called by her brother's name, yet one she barely recognized. 

Gone are the laughter filled days or rides through the back pasture, of gentle discussions of literature and philosophy by the fire in their Father's - now Sidney's, office. Trips into town and parties seem like a dream. This Sidney is in pain and struggles to eat and move on the best days, and in another - terrifying and horrific - world on the worst.

Today brings the worst so far. 

Sidney wakes in the most pain yet, huddling deep under the bed clothes. He refuses food and drink. He barely can speak, as if the sound, even in his own head, caused him harm. 

When Taylor finally catches a glimpse of him, features hard to make out in the dim atmosphere and the many pillows and blankets built around him like a wall to keep out stimulation, she knows something needs to change. 

Sidney's eyes are clench closed, dark bruises discolor the skin under his eyes, and tears clump his eyelashes and leave drying trails down his cheek to his scraggly scruff on his chin. 

She vividly remembers the last time she saw Sidney cry. It wasn't the day of their parents burials, or the time he was called abroad on assignment. No, the day she last remembers him crying was a quiet moment with their Father. Taylor hadn't meant to see, but she heard and saw everything. 

She remembers Sidney crying because Father shared how proud he was of Sidney and his recent promotion to Captain. Father's own military career had been cut short by injury and family obligations, but Sidney was the proud soldier, even from infancy, sewn from the same cloth as his father. 

Taylor wonders how Father would feel now, to see Sidney with such tribulation for the vocation they both adored. She feels shame as soon as the thought comes, but she can't help resent the fact that the zealous pursuit of honor and glory on the field of battle as told at their Father's knee at bedtime, brought her beautiful and faithful brother such terror and pain. 

Taylor takes care to wash her tears, letting the cool water soothe her red eyes and tries to let her worries, her negative thoughts, flow through her fingers into the basin. Surely, the concerns will be there in the morning. She slips out of dress and petticoats and into her nightdress, crawling into her bed with a sigh she feels down to her bones.

‘Please,’ she prays as she follows the call to sleep. ‘Let tomorrow bring a better day and a way toward healing. For all of us.’

******

Sidney wakes in darkness. 

Darkness is his new daylight. As a necessity, it is terribly depressive and incredibly isolating. Three days ago, Sidney felt well enough to try and take tea in the salon. He retreated to his darkness in less than a half an hour. 

Every day, Sidney feels as though he has done something to deserve his life of solitude and absence of light. He tries not to dwell on the thought, but he is constantly drawn back into the grime and gore of the battlefield. The men he lost, the men he left behind because of his own weakness. 

When Sidney looks on Taylor's face when she brings his food that he can only half heartedly pick at when he is in good spirits, or not be able to keep down on his low days; or soothes his trembling after a furious memory that made everything smell of gunpowder and blood, he knows his failure is complete. Not much or a brother or head of household is he, unable to face the day, from the pain just living has become, let alone providing for Taylor in a way she deserves. 

He knows that he should send her away to their mother's sister, so that she can join society, and perhaps, find a spouse. Sidney worries that he is too great a burden for her, in fact he is certain that he's holding her back from the rest of her life. He wants so much more for his sister. 

Resolved to bring this subject up to her that very same day, Sidney gingerly sits up in bed and unsteadily makes his way to his bathing room and the chamberpot. Able to complete his morning ablutions with minimal upset, he decides to try and dress. He manages to change into clean undergarments and a shirt before the dizziness forces him to take a seat at his dressing table. 

Determined, he only allows himself a few moments to breathe and force the room to settle and his hands to cease their shaking. He stands again, and slowly steps into his trousers and does up the buttons. Deciding to risk exposure and a headache, Sidney moves to the window, and draws back the heavy layers of drapes.

The day is still young, the world a hazy bleed of grey and blue with mist and the early sunlight. Sidney smiles, a small, fragile one, not able to be sustained for long, but he felt strong enough to face what may come for him this day. 

He, more confidently than all days in his convalescence, walks from his room, hoping to take breakfast with his sister.

Sidney stops halfway down the staircase to slowly sit down on the steps and close his eyes as the world spins sickeningly. He forces his breathing into calm, even breaths, even as he wants to heave air down his throat. A firm, yet gentle, touch grounds him and he squints his eyes wide enough to see Dana, the steward of their estate, watching him with intense attention. After engaging in a quick study of Sidney's countenance, he drew his arm about Sidney's back. 

“Shall we make our way to the dining room or back to your rooms for breakfast, sir?”

Sidney feels a rush of affection for the thoughtfulness of Dana's query. He genuinely knows Sidney and what he needs so well. He is an exceedingly exceptional person, Sidney thinks.

“Let's try for the dining room, if you please, Dana. I want to try and manage breakfast where I can see my sister's face for once.”

“Very good, sir,” Dana replies. “Please do let me know if you have need of any assistance, as myself and the rest of the staff are hoping for your recovery and don't welcome you to be ill again.”

Sidney smiles a tight smile. “Of course. If you could, please thank the rest of the staff for their diligence and care, as it makes my recovery feel closer than ever. You all have performed most admirably.” 

Dana bows his head and helps Sidney stand. He doesn't remove his arm from Sidney's shoulders, and he is reluctantly grateful for the support.

They arrive at the dining room with no further incidents, and the look of joy that lights Taylor's face is worth everything to Sidney in that moment.

*******

Nathan reigns in his horse as he comes around the bend. The road opens from a densely wooded avenue to open pastures. He sits, enjoying the view, smelling the fresh clover and newly cut hay. 

He's still unsure that this is the right choice. All he wanted from even as a young boy was to be a soldier. He knows many that have joined the ranks of her Majesty’s army, and he wants to count himself among them. 

His mother, though, does not see that for his future. And like any dutiful son, he could not argue with her logic. War is dangerous and few men come back from battle unchanged. She convinced him to take the summer months away from the city in their country estate and use the time to reflect and be certain of his choice.

It feels as though his journey to finding that answer is doomed from the start. Rain follows him off and on for the better part of the day, leaving his jacket sticking to him like a second skin and so much mud he doesn’t even bother scrapping it away, because a new layer will find its way onto his person in no time. 

Then, by his reckoning as he nears the last stretch of road, the axle breaks. He is lucky he packed a saddle and tack. He loads what he couldn't leave behind in his smallest bag and rides toward the nearest manor. 

He doesn't understand if his tribulations are meant to prepare him for the hardships as a soldier or to dissuade him from joining in the first place. Either way, he can do nothing but move forward.

Spotting the grand house on a near hilltop, his spirits rise and he hopes to find a welcome end to his day. 

*********

Zhenya hurries through crowded streets, hat low over his brow and coat collar up to shield him from the biting wind. He holds his left hand firm over his pocket, wanting to keep his letter safe until he can post it. 

He painstakingly writes each letter in sparse English. He pours his longing and the emptiness he feels, into descriptions of his day, things he sees, and thoughts he has, that he never thought to mention before. 

Before. Before Sidney had left him and London behind for the glory and duty of war. Before Sidney had blushed when Zhenya had kissed his knuckles. Before they had traded locks of hair, carefully stored in handkerchiefs dipped in cologne and stitched with each other's monograms. Before Sidney had left him that morning, hidden behind barrels and crates on the docks. Before he hadn't heard from Sidney in nine months. 

Zhenya is home in Russia, after a letter from his childhood acquaintance, Mr. Ovechkin, had left him little choice. The letters he sends have been unanswered, and resentment toward Ovechkin and the responsibilities forced upon him simmers in his belly. 

Soon, he promises himself. Soon, he'll go back to England and find Sidney. Soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was first posted on my tumblr. I have been revisiting it, and am hoping to finish this, as I love this story so much. I hope you enjoy it as well!


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